NOTES.
(1) Pledge to follow a chief.—p. 153.
All those who enlist themselves on a war expedition give the chief a bit of bark with their mark upon it, and he who after that draws back is scarcely safe while he lives; at least he would be dishonoured for ever.
Once enlisted, to turn back is, in their opinion, a disgrace of so deep die that they encounter death rather than submit to it. They carry this chivalrous principle to an extent which finds no parallel in modern, and scarcely in ancient, history. Lewis and Clarke, in their Expedition up the Missouri, (vol. 1. p. 60, Philadelphia, 1814), speak of an association among the Yanktons, "of the most brave and active young men, who are bound to each other by attachment, secured by a vow never to retreat before any danger, or give way to their enemies. When the Yanktons were crossing the Missouri on the ice, a hole lay immediately in their course, which might easily have been avoided by going round. This, the foremost of the band disdained to do, but went straight forward, and was lost. The others would have followed his example, but were forcibly prevented by the rest of the tribe. There were twenty-two of these warriors at one time, but in a battle with the Kite Indians of the Black Mountains eighteen of them were killed; the remaining four were dragged from the field of battle by their companions."
(2) Spot which the Great Spirit had forgotten to level.—p. 153.
The Indians believe that the earth was at first very loosely thrown together, and not intended as a place of permanent occupation for any one. Their opinions respecting the roughness of the surface are various and amusing. I asked a Cherokee what occasioned the surface of the earth to be so very uneven. After a momentary hesitation he replied, "It was done in a wrestling and boxing-match between the Great Spirit and the Evil Spirit. While they were scuffling, the latter, finding himself moved about easily, occasionally worked his feet into the earth to enable him to stand longer. The valleys were the holes his feet occupied, and the hills and mountains the sand thrown out."
THE FIRE SPIRIT.
My brothers know, said a Nansemond warrior, that our tribe have a custom of burning over, every season, the great glade, or prairie, which lies beyond the hill, which the Great Spirit struck with his lightnings in the Hot-Moon. Yearly they see the flames devouring the dry and ripe grass, but they do not know what led to this custom; probably they have never heard that it is done in consequence of a solemn promise made by their fathers to the Spirit of Fire. Let them listen, and I will tell them the story.
Once upon a time, as the Nansemonds were warring against the Eries, who have their residence upon the shores of the lake of that name, they were caught in a narrow valley, or ravine, which lay between two high hills. One of the outlets to this valley opened into the lake; the other, that by which they had entered, had been occupied soon after their entrance into it, and, for a while, without their knowledge, by a strong party of their enemies. It may well be asked, why a band of warriors, cunning, sagacious, and experienced, as the Nansemonds were, should thus be caught like a foolish beaver in a trap. I will tell the warriors—they were decoyed into this dangerous valley by the roguish and wanton tricks of the Spirit of Fire.
This hasty and hot-tempered spirit, who is very good and kind when his master keeps him in due subjection, but who, when he escapes from his control, never fails to do a great deal of mischief, to burn up the maize, and frighten away the beasts which the Great Spirit has given to the Indians—or to destroy their food—sent Chepiasquit[43] to lead the Nansemonds—foolish men! they supposed it was to a camping-ground, where cool shade and sweet water should be found—and decoy them into a spot where they should fall an easy prey to their enemies. No thought had they of entering this dangerous valley. It was soon after the coming of the darkness that they saw this treacherous ball in the open space before them, and, believing it to be a lamp held out by a friendly spirit to conduct them, as I said before, to a place of rest and safety, they followed it without hesitation, and were thus placed completely in the power of their enemies. But they were good warriors—men tried and approved in many deadly conflicts, and such never feel the touch of fear, or show concern, even when they see the fire lighted and the tortures prepared for them. So, when they found themselves in the toils of their enemies, like a herd of buffaloes surrounded by a band of mounted hunters, they coolly sat down to think of the means and reckon the chances of escape.
While they sat talking, suddenly there appeared under the shade of a tree near them a man of singular shape and proportions. He was squat, and so very fat, that he looked like a skinned pig which has been reared in a plentiful season of nuts and mast. His face was far wider than it was long, and the flesh and fat fell in great folds, upon his body, legs, and arms, which were entirely naked, and of the colour of a bright fire; his hair stood out every way, like flames kindled in a brisk wind; and, when he opened his mouth, the breath which issued from it was felt scorching and searing at the distance of half a bowshot. His eyes, which were two coals of fire, emitted sparks like a piece of birch wood which has been steeped in bitter water[44]. The Nansemonds were stricken with great terror at the sight of this hideous Spirit, and it was a long time before they ventured to address him. When they had called up a sufficient stock of courage, they went towards him, and the leader of the band spoke to him thus:
"Who art thou?"
"The Spirit of Fire," he answered.
"Where is thy dwelling place?"
"I have my dwelling place in many and various places—in the caverns of the earth, and where-ever mortals dwell, there am I found."
"Why hast thou, Spirit, beguiled us into the toils of our enemies, the Eries? Behold us entrapped, as a wolf is entrapped by a cunning hunter."
"Then shall I taste revenge!" answered the Spirit, and broke into a hissing laugh. "Does not the chief of the Nansemonds remember that, when I had with my breath kindled a fire in the time of a high wind, and was enjoying the glorious prospect of giving the dry prairie to the devouring flame, the men of his nation assembled, and first repelled, and finally extinguished, that flame. From that moment I have sought revenge—I have found it—the bravest of the Nansemonds are enclosed like a partridge in a net, soon like that partridge to be food for the spoiler."
"Though we then sinned against thee," answered the chief, "yet have we not at all other times been thy true worshippers? When thy fiery meteors have been seen traversing the valleys, and shooting like stars over the prairies, we have bowed down our heads or retreated to our cabins till they had passed, and in both cases failed not to deprecate the anger of Him whom we deemed their master. And yet, Spirit, thou hast delivered us into the toils of our fierce enemies, the Eries!"
With the singular laugh, which was between a hiss and a roar, the Spirit replied by asking: "How know ye that I have delivered you into the toils of your fierce enemies, the Eries?"
"What is the width of the valley into which thy treacherous eye hath decoyed us?" demanded the haughty Chief.
"Scarcely two bowshots," replied the Spirit.
"At its entrance, planted on both sides of the narrow pass, are Eries, well provided with bows and arrows and spears, waiting as a cunning cayman waits in the sedge for the unsuspecting water-duck."
"There are indeed Eries waiting on both sides of the narrow pass, as a cayman waits for a water-duck."
"Then have you led the Nansemonds into a danger from which there are no means of escape?"
"Is there not another end to the valley?"
"There is, and what will it avail? As much as a bow and arrow in the hands of him whose eyes have departed, or a spear in the grasp of a palsied man. Upon each side of the valley, jut far into the lake hills whose precipitous sides no one but a spirit can climb; and where are the canoes which shall transport us to a place of safety?"
"What will the Nansemonds give if the Spirit of Fire will release them from the dangers which encompass them?"
"They will yearly kindle a fire in the time of a high wind, that their deliverer may have the glorious prospect of seeing the dry prairie swept by the devouring flame."
"It is well! upon that condition I will save you."
So saying he arose, and, taking up from the pool in the middle of the valley a handful of slime, he rounded it into a ball, the while breathing upon it until it became of the colour of his face; when he had done this, he placed it upon the great toe of his right foot, and, giving it a kick into the air, and calling it by the name of "Chepiasquit," commanded it "to lead the good people, the Nansemonds, to a place of safety." So saying, he turned to the warriors and bade them follow their guide, who would soon conduct them out of difficulty; and he bade them not forget their promise to fire a prairie in the time of a high wind in honour of him who ruled over that element. Having spoken these words, he began to fade from their view, as a fire goes out which is left unsupplied with fuel. First, the sparks from his eyes disappeared—then his breath ceased to be hot and scorching, and his eyes red and glowing—and soon there was remaining but the indistinct resemblance of a being with the shape of a man. A little while, and even that faint glimmering had ceased to be.
The Nansemonds arose and followed with confidence the fiery ball down the valley. After travelling in an open path for some time, they came all at once to the shore of the lake; they saw its little waves dashing upon the smooth sand, and the stars reflected in the bosom of the clear waters. The fiery ball now changed its course along the shore. Following it, they came at the distance of three bowshots to a little bay, where they found a number of canoes well provided with paddles, and in each a calebash of good nesh-caminnick, and a piece of roasted deer's flesh. They entered these canoes, and committed themselves to the lake. Again the Spirit-ball coaxed them on. Darkness now hid the moon and stars, but it only rendered their guiding light more visible. After following it till the dawn of day, they landed again, and to their great joy found themselves at the foot of the well known path, which led from the lake to their own country. The Spirit-ball had disappeared, but it had first placed them beyond the reach of danger. A few suns, and our fathers once more stood upon the banks of their own pleasant river, the Nansemond, and listened to the joyous prattle of their children, and looked into the bright eyes of their fond wives.
Nor did they forget their promise to the Spirit. Yearly, in the time of a high wind, they kindled a fire in the dry prairie, that their deliverer might enjoy the glorious prospect of seeing it swept by the devouring flame. The warriors know that the custom is still preserved; they know that every year, in the Corn-Moon, when the grass on the prairie is ripe and dry, the chief, or the priest, goes to the spot, and, placing a lighted coal in the grass, makes a bow to it, pronouncing these words: "Thank you, Spirit!" when the grass immediately blazes up, and the prairie becomes enveloped in flames.
THE ORIGIN OF WOMEN.
There was a time, when, throughout the Island, neither on land nor in the water, in field or forest, was there a woman to be found. Vain things were plenty—there was the turkey, and the swan, and the blue jay, and the wood-duck, and the wakon bird; and noisy, chattering, singing creatures, such as the daw, and the thrush, and the rook, and the prairie-dog, abounded—indeed there were more of each than was pleasing to the ear—but of women, vain, noisy, laughing, chattering women, there were none. It was, indeed, quite a still world to what it is now. Whether it is better and happier, will depend much upon the opinion men entertain of those, who have changed its character from calm and peaceable to boisterous and noisy. Some will think it is much improved by the circumstance which deprived the Kickapoos of their tails—while others will greatly deplore its occurrence.
At the time of which I am telling my brother, the Kickapoos, and indeed all red men, wherever found—and at that time there were none but red men in the world—were furnished with long tails like horses and buffaloes. It was very handy to have these appendages in a country where flies were numerous and troublesome, as they were in the land of the Kickapoos—tails being much more sudden in their movements than hands, and more conveniently situated, as every body must see, for whisking off the flies which light upon the back. Then they were very beautiful things, these long tails, especially when handsomely painted and ornamented, as their owners used to ornament them, with beads, and shells, and wampum—and being intended as a natural decoration to the creature, the depriving him of it may well have produced, as it did, a great deal of sport and merriment among the other animals, who were not compelled to submit to the deprivation. The fox, who is rather impudent, for a long time after they were chopped off, sent to the Kickapoos every day to enquire "how their tails were;" and the bear shook his fat sides with laughter at the joke, which he thought a very good one, of sending one of his cubs with a request for a "dozen spare tails."
I have said, that throughout the land there were no women. There were men—a plenty, the land was thronged with them—not born, but created of clay—and left to bake in the sun till they received life—and these men were very contented and happy. Wars were very few then, for no one need be told that half the wars which have arisen have grown out of quarrels on account of love of women, and the other half on account of their maintenance. There was universal peace and harmony throughout the land. The Kickapoos ate their deer's flesh with the Potowatomies, hunted the otter with the Osages, and the beaver with the Hurons; and the fierce Iroquois, instead of waking the wild shout of war, went to the land of the Sauks and Ioways to buy wampum, wherewith to decorate their tails. Happy would it have been for the red men if they were still furnished with these appendages, and wanted those which have been supplied in their place—women!
But the consequence which usually attends prosperity happened to the Indians. They became very proud and vain, and forgot their creator and preserver. They no more offered the fattest and choicest of their game upon the memahoppa, or altar-stone, nor evinced any gratitude, nor sung, nor danced in his praise, when he sent his rains to cleanse the earth and his lightnings to cool and purify the air. When their corn grew ripe and tall, they imputed it to their own good conduct and management; when their hunt was successful, to their own skill and perseverance. Reckoning not, as in times past, of the superintendence of the Great Spirit over all things, they banished him altogether from their proud and haughty hearts, teaching them to forget that there was aught greater or more powerful than himself.
Though slow to anger, and waiting long before he remembers the provocations he has received, the Great Spirit, in the end, and when no atonement is made, always inflicts an adequate punishment for every offence. Seeing how wicked the Indians had become, he said to his Manitous: "It is time that the Kickapoos and other red men were punished. They laugh at my thunders, they make mock of my lightnings and hurricanes, they use my bounties without thanking me for them. When their corn grows ripe and tall, instead of imputing its luxuriance to my warm suns and reviving showers, they say, 'We have managed it well;' when their hunt is successful, they place it to account of their own skill and perseverance. Reckoning not, as in times past, of my superintendence over all things, they have banished me altogether from their haughty hearts, and taught themselves to forget that there is aught greater and more powerful than the Indian."
So saying, he bade his chief Manitou repair to the dwelling-places of the red men, and, to punish them for their wickedness, deprive them of that which they most valued, and bestow upon them a scourge and affliction adequate to their offences. The Spirit obeyed his master, and descended to the earth, lighting down upon the lands occupied by the Kickapoos. It was not long before he discovered what it was which that people and the other Indians most valued. He saw, from the pains they took in decorating their tails with gay paints, and beads, and shells, and wampum, that they prized them above every other possession. Calling together all the red men, he acquainted them with the will of his master, and demanded the instant sacrifice of the article upon which they set so much value. It is impossible to describe the sorrow and compunction which filled their bosoms, when they found that the forfeit for their wickedness was to be that beautiful and beloved appendage. But their prayers and entreaties, to be spared the humiliation and sacrifice, were in vain. The Spirit was inexorable, and they were compelled to place their tails on the block and to behold them amputated.
The punishment being in part performed, the Spirit next bethought himself of a gift which should prove to them "a scourge and affliction adequate to their offences." It was to convert the tails thus lopped off into vain, noisy, chattering, laughing creatures, whose faces should he like the sky in the Moon of Plants, and whose hearts should be treacherous, fickle, and inconstant; yet, strange to relate, who should be loved above all other things on the earth or in the skies. For them should life often be hazarded—reputation, fame, and virtue, often forfeited—pain and ignominy incurred. They were to be as a burden placed on the shoulders of an already overloaded man; and yet, a burden he would rather strive to carry than abandon. He further appointed that they should retain the frisky nature of the material from which they were made, and they have retained it to this day.
The Great Spirit, deeming that the trouble wherewith he had provided the red man would not sufficiently vex and punish him, determined to add another infliction, whose sting, though not so potent and irksome, should be without any alleviation whatever. He sent great swarms of musquitoes. Deprived of tails, by which flies could be brushed away at the pleasure of the wearers, the Indians dragged out for a long time a miserable existence. The musquitoes stung them, and their tails teased them. The little insects worried them continually, and their frisky companions, the women, were any thing but a cup of composing drink. At length the Great Spirit, seeing how the poor Indians were afflicted, mercifully withdrew the greater part of the musquitoes, leaving a few as a memorial of the pest which had formerly annoyed them. The Kickapoos petitioned that the women should also be taken away from them, and their old appendages returned—but the Great Spirit answered, that women were a necessary evil, and must remain.